Touch Complex
by Literate
Summary: ‘You have a condition. Something about being overly sensitive to the environment… or something like that,’ Kaoru had shrugged. ‘This… touch complex.’ Hikaru's POV. [Hinted HikaXKao]


You have no idea where I got this strange idea from... Randomly, I just got to thinking how I was so touchy, yet get creeped out when people touch _me_. And then I thought about Hikaru and _pop! _This story came about. :D Leave it to me to come up with an idea that's suggestive.

Warning: T for some suggestiveness, and hinted HikaXKao, although it could be taken as brotherly love too. (Leaning more towards love-love, but whatever suits your taste.) Takes place years after graduation, obviously. :P Future fic. Hikaru's abnormally deep POV. xP He's just deep about things he knows about, and he's more mature/older in this ficcie than in the story. That's my sucky excuse. :P I tried to be right with canon, at least.

Disclaimer: I dun own the twins. Nor the Hitachiins. Nor Ouran High School Host Club. If I owned it, I'd be putting that here instead. :P

* * *

Like all nights, we were in the same position, my arms wrapped protectively around him, my face nuzzled into my favorite niche, his neck. My fingers pressed into his back, the feeling of his soft, smooth skin under my fingertips. He was slightly cold; I felt his shivers clearly as he moved against me. I smiled into his skin, as I deepened the embrace.

He stayed still, quiet, as the air conditioner rumbled slowly. I could tell, he was still awake. I could hear, _feel_, his calm breathing, although not as harsh as while he was in movement, it was not the mere whisper that came from his mouth while he was asleep and tickled my ear. He didn't return my overprotective hug, _never did_; instead, one of his hands was tucked under the top-quality feather pillow, the other against my side, not pressing towards me nor avoiding my skin; it was just_ there_.

He hardly reciprocated my touches; he had told me once before, _you're touching me enough for the both of us_, so he didn't bother to; he hardly did.

But I knew he was there; his eyes were closed, about to drift to dreamland. He fell asleep slowly, like it was some sort of eventual phase. I had studied him enough to figure out how long it normally took for his muscles to fully relax, how soft his breathes became once he fell asleep, and even though he hardly replied to my unasked questions _anyway_, I knew what point he would completely cease listening to me.

My touch was acute; I knew what exactly what I was touching, where I was touching, and it was a fact that I had a complete map of his entire body, inch by inch. Touch coupled with all my other senses could help me tell if he was lying, protecting, or hiding something. He never got away with lying (and I prided myself on that simple fact.)

But it was always like this-

_I was always the one touching_.

* * *

My index finger tapped against the hard metal desk, the cold surface completely different with which I was accustomed to.

"Kaoru," I droned, standing up from my desk, which was full of annoying and more annoying paperwork. I had felt enough rough paper to last my life. Kicking my revolving chair towards the desk, I took several paces to my left, and promptly draped my arms over his shoulders. _Mmm_, more comfortable than the table.

"Hmm?" he answered, casual. I knew he was paying more attention to the computer screen than me; after all, profits could actively affect their business unlike an annoying twin brother who felt like being touchy at this particular hour at the same time each day. His hands flew across the keyboard again, and he set his hand on his mouse, clicking it once. He tilted his head slightly, like he was telling me he was listening, "What, Hikaru?"

I felt my face muscles go slack, adopting an indifferent mien, and I raised a hand, bored, fingering his soft brown hair, _I'm bored_. My eyes closed once, and opened halfway, "Nothing."

He glanced at me, from the corner of his eye, but turned back to the computer with a half-shrug, _deal with it, I'm working_. My eyes didn't change my expression; I knew he had just, in one look, figured me out completely, in the same way the sense of _touch_ worked for me.

But it was always like this-

_He was never the one touching._

* * *

Our high school friends (and colleagues) always told us it was eerie that they always felt that we were having a conversation behind their backs that they couldn't (_never_) understand; in a way, it was true, but we didn't have a common "language." He had his own way of interpreting me; he could practically read my face, expression, and tone, and I could read his obscure little motions that others always overlooked. It could be said that we were trained to understand each other from birth, and fully comprehend the thoughts that never came out of our mouths, that were never attempted to be put into words, actions, or even emotions.

Whenever I touched him, I knew what he was thinking, the vague signs that he manages to hide from others were flashing neon signs for me. Whenever he looked at me, he knew what was in my mind, the incomprehensible combination of motions and expressions were clearly laid out.

I knew that touch was my strongest sense; I could tell who touched me, _the contours of their hands, the size, soft or rough, every little thing_, and I knew what I was touching, feeling what was under my fingertips, and understanding what it _was_. He knew that I had an obsession with touching things, especially him; he knew it early enough to get used to it. Everyone knew that the Hitachiin twins ignored the existence of "others," if not, they would ignore their personal space and layered affections on affection after neck-breaking (or suffocating, didn't matter) hugs.

So, it came as a surprise that while-

While Kaoru wasn't as touchy as I was, and didn't mind others _(especially me)_ touching him-

I, the ever so touchy elder twin, didn't like _being_ touched.

_Tell me that's hypocritical_, I silently begged my twin, looking up into his deep amber eyes. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, for once, and I only hoped that he got my message because I _couldn't_ tell him why I had suddenly lost all my senses during the graduation rehearsal, nor during the first colleague-sponsored dinner party, nor during the first fire drill after our promotion to co-heads. (He would believe that I was being too literal.) I only hoped he understood my problem.

He finally averted his eyes and looked out the black-tinted windows, his shaky hand brushing my hair comfortingly. But he was shaking; he was as nervous as I was, _he didn't understand_. I closed my eyes and adjusted my position on his lap and along the passenger seats, and hoped that this wouldn't happen again- _I didn't like it._

I got my answer a week later, coupled with a genuine smile-

"_You are your one person, and you don't mind being unique, singled out from the crowd."_

I just looked at him, just stared, my hand stopped my pen, _what about you?_

He took a seat on the desk, disconnecting our eye contact for one mere moment before looking back at me. He simply gave me an animated wink, _I__ have you to consider._

I blinked, _it's that simple?_

He giggled _the way_ he always does when he's amused. I didn't know what was so funny to him. Flashing a toothed smile at me, he flicked at my forehead, his touch fleeting (and ticklish), his eyes mischievous, and then I _get it_- _duh, you're egoistical_.

My eyes twitched, just slightly, _and you're not?_

He laughed, and then, the questioning secretary wondered why her two bosses were on the cold floor, one on the other, laughing, making noise, and generally creating a disturbance. But that kind of contact was fine with me; because I _knew it was Kaoru_.

No one knew exactly why I hated to attend meetings in which I was merely "one of the many." They just knew that the Hitachiin twins loved making a name for themselves and be one of the "best of the best" because they had "an ego."

That may be true, and also the reason why Kaoru did it, but there was another reason why I disliked being "with the crowd."

* * *

_You have a condition. Something about being overly sensitive to the environment… or something like that,_ Kaoru had shrugged. I had watched as he put his two index fingers together at the tip, and looked up at me, _This… touch complex._

The congested ballroom overloaded my senses; my sight was being blinded with the massive amount of people, my ears picked up the most abnormal pieces of conversation, my mouth fell open mutely in surprise of my inability to hear even my own self, my nose was bombarded with the different scents and aromas of different people as I rushed past, my skin was telling me there were touches from everywhere _but not exactly where_, and my mind heightened into a panic as my _self_ felt practically _violated_.

In the haze of confusion, I could scarcely hear a familiar voice calling "Hikaru!" as I spun around abruptly, trailing my way out the doors. But going out was even harder than coming in-

It was unusual for a Hitachiin to be nervous, many can attest to that. They had natural charisma, born with a love for stage dramatics or speech, especially the two infamous Hitachiin twins. They were also touchy-feely on a long run; affectionate, both were unashamed as they naturally accepted anyone into their show of affection.

But I had never understood _why_-

How could I hate crowds- the way it pressed against me- the way it made me felt like one in the world- the way it made me "normal"-

I was near the entrance, my light blue cell phone out and ready for a call to the chauffer to _hurry up and pick me up!_ and ignore all his protests of _I heard the fashion meeting ends at ten_! Just three- two- one steps away and-

I felt something warm around my hand, pressing for me to _stop_, and I stopped, knowing that there was only one person like _that_. I was slightly out of breath, shaking obviously, my eyes closed, concentrating on that sole presence, the one that encircled my shivering hand.

"Hikaru…" I didn't look up, nor did I turn around. I mean, how could I face him? Why was I too nervous to go into the crowds? He didn't let go of my hand, bringing his arms around my shoulders, in somewhat of a comforting gesture. His breath brushed against my neck, "Hikaru?"

Then, in the midst of the troubling nervousness-

_He was touching me_.

And then the strangest thing dawned-

_I wasn't touching him back_.

"Kaoru," I whispered, my mind trying to recover my senses, but my sight was still blurry, my ears refused to work, my mouth unable to form any word but my brother's name, nor my mind identify the sweet aroma that was just _his_. I could scarcely be sure of who was embracing me right now; it could've been anyone. Everything had shut down. All I could do was _feel._ Feel the calming warmth behind me, the strong arms around me, and the steady hand holding mine.

"Hikaru, would it be better if I held your hand?" he asked, his hot breath against my neck. His breath was the only way I could _hear_ him, the way he breathed, the patterns, the way his mouth imprinted each word on my skin.

I nodded, my world still spinning. My fingers moved numbly, as if signaling to him that I was still nervous, still out of my mind. The only thing that anchored me to reality was Kaoru, his presence, his _touch_.

I couldn't understand how Kaoru's touch could affect me this way; how in the midst of all, everything, his touch was the light in the darkness, the only clear light in my misted darkness.

Before, he would've always joked around about how I was too sensitive, sometimes. He would say that just to annoy me, to taunt me; because obviously he was different than me in that way; his body always told him to _accept_ everything, instead of pushing it all away, _like I always did_ _whenever it's just __too__ much._

That's why he never reacted _(like I did) _whenever I touched him, no matter where I did, no matter how private or public, whether in the secrecy of our home or within the cameras of society. That's why I never stopped touching him, because feeling his skin on mine comforted me, more than just words and actions. That's why we both thought it was right when we entwined our hands, entwined our bodies against each other, our hearts, ourselves.

Now, when the world's eyes has gotten bigger, wider, and everything grated against my senses, blocking my own method of comfort, I went senseless with nervousness, because _everything came down all at once and I couldn't tell __what was what_

It's only this time when he takes my hand, gives me a soft embrace, whispers just several words to bring my mind back. And that's enough for me.

"Hikaru-" and I heard his voice again, heard, not felt. And I blinked, clearing my mind of any remaining drowsiness, "You fine now?"

"Yeah," I nodded, and he removed his arms from their perch, casually, like I simply shrugged it off. He was behind me, so I turned to look at him, our hands still linked, meeting his concerned eyes with my amber, "I never expected _that_ much people to be there."

Dropping his worry, he laughed, an amused glint in his eyes, "Oh, of course you didn't; it's an international meeting," he smiled at me, something in his eyes that I couldn't decipher. "So, ready to go back in?"

I nodded, feeling slightly more confident; after all, it happened just because I was surprised: I didn't have time to prepare for it. I gave him a peace sign, winking, "Let's show them our Hitachiin pride!"

He laughed lightly, and gently detached his hand from mine, but I was quick enough to pull him back into a firm grip. A serene smile crept onto his lips, as his eyes glimmered, _fine, have it your way._

And I nodded, because he would always have it my way, no matter what I said. He was just _like that_.

I was always the one who did the touching. He was never the one who did the touching.

My touches were casual, leaving conspicuous marks, and could be expected every minute of the day. It made me feel secure, that I knew everything about him, whether he was cold, warm, or sick, feverish. My touch was my weapon, it could be rough or gentle, it could tell people many, many things, it could tell me everything; it was the way of expressing myself.

But his touches were fleeting, barely feathery light, and most of all, rare. He touched me only when he truly meant it; he didn't waste a single brush of the hand on trivial purposes. He knew me thoroughly enough not to rely on such a method as mine. He wasn't expressive, hiding behind his words, which was why I had to assure myself, touching him every so often.

It was my way of telling that I was always there, that I loved him, my way of knowing that he was there, and that he loved me too.

But sometimes, I just lost that sense of touch, and I would _panic_. Which was why I've come to treasure his touches in a way that would never match to just touching him.

_He touched me only when _I _couldn't._


End file.
